


Pricks & Thumbs

by Ywain Penbrydd (penbrydd)



Category: Fear Mythos
Genre: Diary/Journal, Dreams vs. Reality, Gen, Gods, Long Lost/Secret Relatives, Monsters, Please feel free to misuse my characters in your own Fear Mythos works, Post-Apocalypse, apotheosis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-08-29
Packaged: 2018-11-16 02:20:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 12,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11244324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penbrydd/pseuds/Ywain%20Penbrydd
Summary: Rich Providence, the man called 'Fish', lives in a world in which nearly genuine humans remain. The preceding generation were claimed by Those Who Walk Before, in the wake of apocalyptic change, and everyone's a little strange -- not that they know it. Fish has strange, prophetic dreams that lead him deeper into the Old World and the City that calls to him.(I got this weird-shit idea, and it wouldn’t leave me alone. I don’t know if this is a story I’ll actually ever finish. I’m not sure I know where it’s going. But, it’s a great set up, and I’d be a fool not to at least start it, while I have it.)





	1. Chapter 1

Hey, Rich Providence here, not that the name probably means much to any of you. You can call me Fish, I guess. Most people do. Just don’t call me Dick. Only the boss calls me Dick. "Dick Wicked". It’s my name in the credits on all our films. Sounds like a porn star name, doesn’t it?

I’m not a porn star. For the record.

I work with a bunch of them, though. I’m digital effects. I know, in the Old World, porn didn’t usually have digital effects, but it’s not the Old World, any more. I don’t even remember it, but they tell me I was born in the middle of the change. Must’ve been pretty awesome, or something. I don’t know. I grew up here, in New Stanton, which didn’t exist back then. I really can’t imagine it not being here, but I kind of remember the town growing up around me, as I grew up. It’s almost a city, now.

I’ve read  a bunch of Old World books, and it doesn’t sound all that different to the world I know, except the part where horror novels that weren’t about serial killers or wild animals were apparently regarded as impossible fictions. I don’t know if anything’s impossible in the New World, but we haven’t tried everything, yet. I’m sure of that. Some things don’t work like you thought they would, sure, but I know that happened in the Old World, too. But, nobody’s sure that anything _isn’t real_. Even the Unmarked are real. I heard that in the Old World, everyone was Unmarked. They’re so weird looking, though, with their plain skin and dim eyes. Maybe they don’t all look like that. I only ever saw two, and they were both pretty old. I don’t know if there are any Unmarked younger than me. I don’t know what I’d do, if I saw one.

It’s weird, though. Unmarked are like… a fetish. I don’t understand it, at all. Give me some Seraphim, any day, or Serpentine. There’s a charm to that scaly skin. I get a little tired of Rubies and The River. I work in porn. Rubies are a given, and The River is always looking for a way in. The River is everywhere and we’ve got special protocols, on set, for anyone doing a scene with it. With any of it. But, the people want to see Unmarked, so we build clean skins, to hide the external vascular systems, the amphibious gills, the scales, the pupilless blue eyes… The marks that extrude are harder — beaks, coils, jackal’s heads, stuff like that. Some people like what we are, what we’ve become, I guess, but Unmarked are the fetish of the decade, and none of them will come near us.

I mean, they’re right. They wouldn’t stay Unmarked for long. Those Who Walk Before would come down from Tower Mountain, and take them. I heard it hurts, if you’re not born with a mark, but nobody talks much about the being taken, or the change, at all. So many places were destroyed, and so much of the last days of the Old World is just… gone.

There’s an old library, about a day’s ride out, by neohippus, but they don’t have any newspapers from the last few months of the Old World. I think the Librarians might know, but they’re not talking. Or maybe they are, and they’re just taking it back, when they’re done. You can never tell, with Librarians. They’re always happy to see me, though. I go out, on the weekends, and bring them the news from town. A handful of books, the daily rag, some industry gossip. Maybe sneak a few un-patched films to them. They don’t seem to have that weird Unmarked fetish. I don’t know if Librarians have fetishes at all, but I figure they do. They’re just like the rest of us, for all that they live only among the books. Might be because they’re banned from most towns. Nobody _likes_ losing their own pasts. Some of us are just a little less bothered by it than others. Sometimes, I come out with a few less memories than I went in, but I always come out with an armful of old books, too, so it works out. Lose a little, gain a little.

Anyway, I figured maybe I should write this all down. Like, if the world changes, tomorrow… nah, then this will probably just go away, like all the newspapers. If I forget, maybe this will still be here. Librarians can make you forget, but they can’t erase history. Not like He Who Walks Before Them, sacred be his name, and all goodness be upon him, and may I never see his face.


	2. Chapter 2

I’ve been reading some history, the last few days, and I have to say some of it confused me, at first. I saw some things about enslaving black people, and at first, I was sure they were talking about Patternhanded, and I was totally confused, because why would anyone enslave Patternhanded? You don’t even have to pay them. They just… arrange things. Everything. All the time. We pay some taxes to the town, to make sure they have food and shelter, but I don’t think they’d stop working, even if we didn’t. They’re neurotic, like that.

Anyway, after some more reading, I figured out that when the Old World books say ‘black people’ or ‘Negroes’, they don’t mean _black_ people. They mean really dark _brown_ people. And that was kind of freaky. I mean, sure, people are still a bunch of different colours, but nobody pays any attention to that. I mean, really, the things people notice are like… GILLS. Because, sure, some people want to go to The River, but most people don’t.

That’s why they call me Fish, you know, it’s short for Fish Out of Water. My dad says I went to The River, when I was a baby, but I never got gills. I’m not contagious, either. Nobody’s sure why, but not too many people ask, because not too many people younger than my dad even know. Dad thinks it’s because I’m outside of time, or something, because of when I was born. I don’t know. I seem to keep getting older, so it’s not like I’m eternally stuck on the outside, or something.

But, back to those Unmarked weirdos, because WHAT? I guess in the Old World people really hated on each other because of what colour they were, or where they were from, or Who Walked Before Them. I mean, sure, Those Who Walk Before take shots at each other, and sometimes they force the Septs to play along, but nobody would ever just kick somebody’s ass in the road, because they’re brown or they’re a Seraph or something. It’s just so strange to me that these things mattered, in the Old World. As much as I wish, sometimes, that we still had some of their technology and stuff, I don’t think I would’ve liked their world.

Well, no, I mean, we _do_ still have _some_ of their technology, obviously, because digital porn. But, like, trains and the telephone. Those things just aren’t there any more, and it’s weird because like… other things that we do have use almost the same technology, but… I don’t know. Maybe nobody’s done it yet, because it’s only been twenty five years, and the old folks say that if everywhere is like we are, more than three quarters of the people in the world are gone. Just… gone. I think some people probably died, sure. But, gone? And three quarters of them? I don’t… I’m going to find something to trade the Librarians, so I can ask them. I know they know, but just like everyone else, they don’t talk about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still building a world from the perspective of someone who’s never seen the one we live in. It’s … a little weird, trying to stay away from the kind of exposition that only makes sense if this world still exists.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our protagonist investigates the records in the town hall, and discovers some journals, from the early days of the town.

I haven’t been able to get out of town, yet. We’re shooting something with Syl and Janet, tonight, which means I don’t have to pay too much attention, just enough to make sure the little things get cleaned up. Those two won’t do scenes for Unmarked fetishists, and yeah, they don’t get paid as much, but the fans are devoted in a whole other way.

I managed to get to Town Hall, this morning, to get a look at some of the early records. Miss Nancy says if I ever decide to change my mark, I should come see her. I laughed and said I didn’t think I’d look that good in black. There’s stuff in there I remember from when I was a kid, but it goes back further than I remember, and there’s more details.

I guess when the world changed, everything went away. I mean, yeah, I heard, but… People’s memories are weird. I just never really believed it, but there’s journals and stuff talking about how stuff used to be. I guess there was a town _near_ here, but not where we are, now. There’s sketches of it. That’s what the library’s from, I guess. There’s some stuff about when the Patternhanded first came, and how they started building, non-stop, like they knew where all the parts were and exactly where to put them. I guess once people figured out what they were doing, they started hauling stuff in from what was left of other towns, and piling it in what’s now the town square. And there’s a few mentions of other … people? Like the Patternhanded, but flat. This journal says they moved like ghosts and shadows. I guess they’re talking about Those Who Walk Before The Pattern. I don’t remember ever seeing them, but I was really young, and Those Who Walk Before stopped coming around so much, years ago.

There were still Librarians in the town, back then, and they used to bring books and diagrams so the Patternhanded could learn new patterns. I know not every Patternhanded knows every pattern. They’re people, like the rest of us. But, they see things so differently, I just never thought of them learning patterns. I figured they just knew some. I asked Miss Nancy, and she told me they all start knowing some, but it’s not that hard to learn more. The whole time we talked, she never stopped correcting the stacks, nudging the furniture, and cleaning out the tiny little screws that held together the cabinets until they reflected the light just how she wanted to see it. She told me she built the Town Hall, so she knew just how it was supposed to be. Her and Jerry Moran, she said, but I guess he’s dead, now. Heard he tried to build an auditorium around some dancing Dolls, and they trampled him. It’s now the playhouse on Jackson, and there’s a little plaque out front with his name on it.

I also read that there wasn’t always a forest, here. After the change, it was all just red clay for miles in every direction. Red clay, and some broken down building-parts. It’s pretty much still like that, if you get too far out of town, but most of the good stuff has already been dug up. One of the journals said that trees used to be green, but they’ve always been red, here. I can’t really imagine what green leaves on a tree would be like. It’s just weird.

Anyway, I guess the Dryads came, because there was a town starting, and they needed somewhere to go. They made a deal with the Seraphim, and the Seraphim called the rain, and the Dryads raised the trees. Dryads are really pretty awesome, and there would not be nearly as many colours in town, without them. They brought us all kinds of things to eat and flowers and all this cool shit that would just not have been possible without them, in all that red clay. I never thought about it, before. You know? It’s like… you grow up and things are a certain way, and you just… never think about it.

So, yeah, I guess I really like Dryads, now, even if they are a little creepy to look at.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fish dreams weird stuff. He’s not sure he’s got anything to offer the Librarians that will get him what he wants, but he’s going to ride out, anyway. I suspect he’ll be surprised, when he gets there, next time.

I had the weirdest dream, last night. I was walking through a city, like one of the Old World cities, with the huge stone and glass buildings that reach up to the sky, but there was no one on the street. I kept walking toward the sun, because at least that would let me know how to get back to where I started, but nothing moved. The lights at every crossroad were only lit on the red light, until the last one. That one was green, and when I passed it, the door to the store on the corner opened, and behind it was all swirling black, and this girl was standing in the doorway. I couldn’t make out her face or even her mark, but she was singing the same couple of lines, over and over: "Where were you / in the spring / when I fell / took my fall / off the wall / in the garden / of Eden". And the rhythm was just like that. Every time I tried to walk towards her, the street would change, and I’d be right back on the corner, where I started. Finally, I woke up, and nothing was weird or wrong. You know, like leaving the window open when it’s cold can give you weird dreams, or one of the Patternhanded deciding it’s time to re-arrange your closet in the middle of the night, or your Seraphim friend’s birds building a nest on your pillow while they wait for you to wake up. Nothing weird at all, which I guess is kind of weird, by itself.

I really need to see the Librarians, this weekend. I’ll have to bring them something unexpected. I’d offer my memory of the journals, since it would be easy to go read those again, but I have a feeling they already know those. They were there.

Whatever I come up with, I’ll be gone for two days. One day to ride out, and one to ride back. It’s not quite a whole day, but I don’t want to ride in the dark, if I can help it. The razorhounds scare the hell out of Marchioness, and to be honest, they scare the hell out of me, too. We’ll be safe, as long as I can get out of here before the sun gets too high. The razorhounds won’t get too close to the library, for some reason. Of course, they almost never come into town, either. I don’t understand them. I don’t want to understand them. I just don’t want to get eaten by them.

I think I’ll just ride out and ask. Bring the usual stuff, maybe the final cut from last night. If I don’t have anything they want, they’ll say something cryptic, and I’ll go back with something else, next weekend.

Still a little shaken up by that dream, though. I keep humming that tune. It’s really catchy…


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fish has … FRIENDS? And they aren’t all LIBRARIANS? *gasp!* Yes, he made it to the library.

So, I went to the library. I guess it’s a good thing I wrote down that dream, because that’s what they took. I can understand it, when I read it, but I can’t see it. It’s like it happened to someone else. They were nice about it, like they always are. Brought me a cup of chicory and spike with honey, chatted with me about work, when I gave them some new films.

I guess it’s funny to say ‘chatted’, with Librarians, because they don’t really talk. They just sort of… I don’t know. You sit with one, and you know what he means to say. You know what he wants you to tell him. I mean, sure, anything they want to know, they can just reach in and take, but they’re not rude about it. They’ll ‘talk’ to you, first, and then make an offer.

The films got me a couple more non-fiction books about geography and civilizations. Just overview stuff, really, but I’m starting to think ‘everyone is missing’ isn’t such a crazy idea. I don’t know the names of any landmarks near here, from before, so I’m not sure where we are on the map, but I can see that the population of pretty much everywhere used to be pretty dense. Well, compared to how things are, now.

New Stanton is only a few thousand people. I remember, when I was younger, watching people move in. Twenty here, fifty there. Whoever made it through the razorhounds, all the way to the town. A lot of them didn’t make it, I think. I remember people crying, and the doctors were always busy, after a group arrived. Locals with airguns and spears would walk the forest path, to make sure the razorhounds hadn’t followed anyone in. I think the razorhounds don’t like the Dryads, because it was only maybe once or twice a year, they’d actually kill one. The sound was horrible, like the wind had learned to scream, and even though there weren’t any words in it, our heads were filled with the most horrifying images. It was like being a razorhound and making its last kill. I think those were supposed to be threats, and they worked. I was scared. I’m still scared.

But, I look around and I really have to _try_ to imagine cities with _millions_ of people. Seven billion people in the world, the book told me. There’s not another town within five days’ ride, and that’s as far as anyone will go, because that’s all the supplies you can carry, if you expect your neohippus to outrun the razorhounds all night, so you can rest during the day. So, if there’s … I’ll have to ask Miss Nancy, but I don’t think there’s more than ten thousand people here, and that’s if you count the Dryads and the parts of The River that don’t come out of the water. Maybe that’s it. I wonder how far that river goes, and if The River can reach another town on it… I don’t think razorhounds swim. I bet somebody asked, already, and I bet I know what the price was. At least they only want fruit, bread, and cheese in trade for eels and crayfish. I think we’d all starve without The River and the Dryads.

Well, that’s not quite true. I mean, there would still be cheesehouses, but they wouldn’t have bread and ale.  Reminds me, I should see if Jimmy and Lola want to go to Slurry’s for a couple pints of kumis. I haven’t seen them in a week, and they get so bent when I don’t visit. I get so guilty when Jimmy stares and Lola flutters her wings at me. … Of course, he’s a Cynic, so I’m _supposed_ to feel guilty when he stares…


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cheesehouse. Drinking. Music that makes conversation difficult. Gangstee-style bar fight. It’s just like the Old World! Except not. At all.

So, you know, I really like Slurry’s. There’s a couple of cheesehouses in town, but Slurry’s is the sanest one. They put lids on your drinks and there’s a patio just for The River. If you _want_ to go sit with The River, you can, but they’re not getting near your drink, unless you let them. A lot of places that serve food just won’t let The River in at all. Thank Them for takeout, I guess.

Anyway, yeah, I went to see Jimmy and Lola, and we drank way too much kumis. Johnny Gin’s Orchestra was playing, tonight. They’re not the kind of band I’d go see on purpose, but they’re good atmosphere in a place like Slurry’s, even if they do make it so you have to ask people to repeat themselves like twelve times. I was pretty sure Jimmy didn’t actually say ‘Todd Morgan’s potatoes committed suicide’, but you know, I missed what he  _did_ say. We got Lola laughing so hard Dave Slurry had to throw us out, because it started to rain at our table. Sorry, Dave. Bet your beak we’ll make it up to you.

I don’t even remember what we were talking about, by then. Earlier, I told Jimmy about crime and punishment in the Old World. It’s a good thing I brought the book along, because he didn’t believe me. I almost don’t believe me. It just seems so… inefficient to have a bunch of people basically argue about why you did or didn’t do something, and then try to convince a bunch of other people to vote on it. I mean, Cynics. They just kind of … watch you until you confess to something. Not always what they think you did, which is usually pretty funny, when that happens, but to _something_. The thing you’re guiltiest about.

Jimmy tells me he can’t see what somebody feels guilty about, but he can see stuff that’s related to it, so he’ll bring those things around or ask about them. One time, the thing this guy was guilty about more than anything in the world was that he ate his wife’s last few slices of eel, on a sandwich, and then lied to her about it. Jimmy kept seeing sandwiches, theft, a woman, and hunger, so he kept hassling the guy, thinking he was responsible for stealing this old lady’s strider and eating it. Kept like, sitting near the guy and eating sandwiches, talking about how delicious they were, and how Lola made the very best sandwiches. Finally, the guy started crying and confessed to eating his wife’s lunch and how he was sure she was going to kill him, and Jimmy just didn’t know what to do with him. Aaaaaawkward. Turns out the strider got loose and ran out of town. They found a few bones, the next week. Razorhounds got it.

So, yeah, the Cynics aren’t always right, but they can tell when you’re telling the absolute truth, so even if they’re wrong, they find out pretty quick. It seems so much less insane than the Old World way of doing things. But, then, they didn’t have Cynics.

Anyway, we ended up standing around outside the cheesehouse, waiting for Lola to stop raining, ’cause none of us really wanted to bring that inside, anywhere else. We could still hear the band. And then, after a few minutes, we could hear something else. Drummer Dolls. So, we did what any sane people would do. We called in to Dave to close up the shop and lock the doors, and then we took off. The Dolls only drum when they’ve been commanded to strike another sept, right? We watched a little from the alley across the road, and it looked like they came after The River, which just didn’t make any sense. But, I’m not one of Those Who Walk Before, so maybe I don’t know. Maybe there was a way the Dolls could have won that, but I know a couple of them wound up with gills, before we left. I hid out at Jimmy and Lola’s until the drumming stopped.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fish is dreaming again… Also some rambling about the playhouse and the guys from the newspaper.

Looks like the playhouse lost some people, last night. I’m not really surprised, after what happened, but the next production is delayed. It’s a shame. I kind of wanted to see this one. It was supposed to be an adaptation of some Old World story, about a guy who gets stuck in the middle when good and evil make a bet. I love a good comedy.

So, you know, back to work, which is pretty much like it always is. Everyone’s working too hard and making stupid jokes, because we’re all too tired to see straight. The people over at the Tribune are the same way. Sometimes we’ll run into them, at the diner, after an all-nighter, and then all bets are off. Watching that poor Patternhanded pressman try to arrange the napkins, while he was laughing…

There’s not a lot of people in town who don’t have a good sense of humour. I mean, we’re all stuck here, and nobody knows what Those Who Walk Before are going to decide we should do, next, but we’ve got food and cisterns and a sense of community, and the forest keeps out the razorhounds. We’re not doing too badly for ourselves, and people don’t seem to be too distressed about it, most of the time. Still room for a few good laughs. Some of the old folks remember the way things used to be, and they’re trying to make sure we don’t make the same mistakes the Old World did, building too much, too fast, and not being able to keep it up. I’ve read a little bit about that, but I’m not sure I really understand it. It might be one of those things you had to be there for.

Oh, before I forget, I had that dream again. I don’t remember the details from the first time, not a thing but what I wrote down, obviously, but I’m pretty sure it was the same city and the same girl. I can’t really imagine dreaming up two different cities and two different girls for the exact same dream. Maybe I’ll hold onto this one. If I dream it again, I’ll remember them both, and then I’ll know. Or maybe it’s a different city, now, because I don’t remember the first one, so I had to dream up a new one.

It’s weird, though, because it felt so familiar, somehow. I’ve never been in a city in my life. There _are_ no cities, any more. (Or maybe there are, but not around here.) And it can’t just be that I dreamed it, before, because the Librarians took that. It was so _different_ , but somehow, still familiar. Maybe I saw it in a picture. That’s probably it. I read so many books from the Old World, that I’m probably just dreaming a city I saw, and I can’t remember the name of it. I wonder why that one stuck with me.

I think next time, I’m going to try to remember some street names, or something. I hope that works. I know they say you can’t remember words from your dreams, because the words aren’t actually there, they’re just sort of implied because you know there should be words on stuff, but if I can remember to really look, maybe I can read something. Maybe it’ll be something that will tell me where I’m dreaming. Besides, if I’m dreaming it from a photograph, the words were probably in the picture, so they should be there in the dream.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I dunno. Fish being Fish. Actually, fish being really busy and not having any awesome adventures in library-land.

More work. I haven’t had time to do much more reading, because we’ve been filming something for the Dolls. I’ve learned that when the Dolls demand studio space, we don’t even try to say no. And they never film stuff in anything like the order they want it put together, so it’s really hard to figure out what’s going on in their stories. Luckily, the stories are usually pretty short, so it’s not too terrible. We finished this one in a few days. I did some work on it, and I get the impression it was a story about a little girl who was replaced with a clay doll, and she went on to live a wonderful life, but the doll killed her parents. It’s pretty typical Doll stuff, really.

I got to take Naamah and Delilah out for chicory and spike after they got bumped for another Doll scene. That wasn’t a bad time. We got to talking about the Dolls, and I guess they’re big into the amorality plays the Dolls did at the playhouse, last season. I hope they do another production of ‘I’m a Doctor’, some day, because that one sounds really funny. I think I might be sorry I missed it.

Anyway, hopefully now that the Dolls are done with their film, I’ll have some free time, again. I know I want to look through the books I have for pictures of that city. I really don’t know why it seems so familiar, but I have to have seen it in a book. And every time I start thinking of the city, that song comes back to me. It’s so short, but it’s so catchy. I’ve been whistling it at random, for days, now.

"Where were you in the spring…"

Ok, really. Going to bed. Too much working makes Fish a dull boy.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fish rambles about cities, some more, and then talks more about the dream. He’s had it again, but this time, it’s a little different.

There were a _lot_ of cities, in the Old World, and none of them look familiar. Nothing looks like that dream. I mean, sure, maybe I haven’t seen the right one, yet. Maybe it’s not in one of the books I have out, right now. A _lot_ of cities. Really. I’ve seen mentions of cities in these books that aren’t depicted at all, probably because they were the places everyone just… knew what they looked like.

But, the huge grey towers… I just can’t imagine living in a place like that. Twenty floors and more? I think the tallest building in town is _five_. And that’s just because it’s easier to put a house on top of a house than it is to try to break ground again. New buildings were so exciting. No one was ever sure what they’d dig up, this time, but it took so long to get into the clay… My dad said the ambulance in the town square took weeks to dig up, and it was only buried enough you couldn’t open the front doors. When they finally got it out of the ground, it wouldn’t start. When I asked him what it was doing in the town square, he said it went off the road, during the change, and nobody could move it, so they built the town around it. I asked if he knew what happened to the guys driving it, but he told me not to worry about that, and to go ask Epimelios for a basket of apples. I never asked again. Epimelios scared the blood into my shoes, when I was a kid. I don’t really know why Dryads freak me out so much. Probably something about how big their eyes look, because of the marks on their faces.

Anyway, cities. That dream. I had it again, and it’s definitely the same city as last time. The road is stone, but all the places it crosses other roads, they’re black. I can’t read any of the signs, and it looks like the words have fallen off a lot of them. They’re all too damaged to read. There’s a building made of black glass, near the end of the walk, and right on the last corner, there’s a clocktower. And right across from the clocktower, there’s a shop on the corner. A little past the corner, but not much. I feel like it’s a restaurant? Maybe a cheesehouse? I can’t tell, because as soon as I can see into it, it’s all I can see, and then there she is. She grabbed the doorway, this time, and tried to reach out to me, and her mouth was strange. I don’t know. It was like she was singing the words I could hear from very far away, and her lips weren’t making the same words.

The One Who Walks Before Me has never spoken to me, never commanded me… I wonder if it’s finally time. I wonder if she’s the one. I still can’t make out her face. Not really. I can see her lips singing. I know her hair is black, and her eyes are the same bright green as mine. Her eyes are like searchlights; they burn through the blackness, and I can feel it in my palms, when they settle on me. I know she sees me. I wonder if she’s the one.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fish has taken to exploring the city, but it’s not revealing much. He’s determined to make something of these dreams, though.

The dreams are more interesting than work, but that’s not really surprising. Work’s the same thing it always is. Rubies and Dolls, blood and strings, grand choreographed bondage orgies on film. On the bright side, a few natural shoots does mean less work for me. No fake skins on these, just some touch-ups where stuff doesn’t look quite right. Saves on re-shoots.

But, the dreams… The _dream_ , I should say, because it’s really only one, and that’s starting to get a little weird. I mean, yeah, sometimes you have a dream more than once, but … the same dream every night? I thought that only happened to Dolls. Some of the actors told me it’s how they learn their lines for stuff at the playhouse — they dream it every night, and She Who Walks Before Them performs with them as puppets, until they don’t need her help to do it just the way she wants it done. Saves on practice time, but they tell me it’s really exhausting, because it’s like not sleeping.

This dream, though, I’m not a puppet. I can change my mind or my direction, but I always end up coming back, because the other streets start to lack detail. They get blurry after a couple of intersections, and the road just trails off into grey fog. I’m pretty sure that fog and I don’t want to be introduced. Don’t ask me how I know, but I just have a terrible feeling about it. So, I always come back to centre. Always to the road that follows the sun. Always to the shop with the girl in the door. There’s something between us, and it feels like a terrible distance. I can’t get close to the door, and she can’t get out of it. I’ve tried calling out to her, but the words she’s singing never change.

Last time I was in the city, I tried to go into some of the other buildings, to try to find something that might help, maybe a rope or a ladder, something she could grab onto, so I could try to pull her out. Or maybe she could pull me in. I don’t know which one is more likely. I don’t know which one would be better. But, everything I found was pretty useless. Some magazines from twenty or thirty years ago, trash bins, computers, lots of hangers, some mannequins (but all the clothing was gone…), tinned food and snack cakes… Definitely stuff you’d find in a city, but nothing _useful_. There’s a hotel along the way, but all the furniture’s bolted to the floor, and everything else seems to be behind locked doors. I couldn’t open them, but maybe the keys are somewhere I didn’t look.

Hotel’s a weird word, by the way.  It doesn’t seem to have anything to do with what it represents — not like automobile or skyscraper, which we don’t have, here, but the words make sense. I didn’t know ‘hotel’, until I read it in a book about the Old World. I guess it’s a place people would stay when they were in cities they didn’t live in. Sounds pretty useful, if you do a lot of travelling, but … yet another thing that didn’t survive. We don’t have one, in town, because nobody comes from other places, any more. We used to just let people stay in our houses or at the doctor’s, but nobody’s come into town in years.

But, this building… it doesn’t have a sign, any more, but it does have some papers on a long counter, inside, and one of the few words that isn’t totally faded away is ‘hotel’. Most of the doors don’t open, but they don’t look like they have locks on them. There’s just a door handle and a weird slot under it. There’s some doors with places to put a key, though, and those are the ones I’m going to try to get into. I get the sense they’re for employees, just because it’s a small number of doors and they’re in strange places, not numbered and in rows like the rest.

I know, it’s probably kind of weird that I’m talking about this place like it’s real, but it’s there every night, and every night, it’s the same. If I can be in any kind of control in my dreams, I should see how far that goes. I should see how many doors I can open, how many things I can find, and whether I can figure out a way to bring that girl out, or bring myself in. It’s like a puzzle. Some sort of challenge. I wonder if she’s testing me.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fish vs. the hotel. We’ve learned the dream can have other endings, but still not the one he’s looking for.

This time, I went straight to the hotel. Behind the counter, I found drawers and drawers of faded paper, bits of plastic, forgotten things. I think some of the paper was supposed to have been brochures. It felt glossy, even if it was too dirty to reflect light. I couldn’t read them, because the words had faded away, but the pictures looked like parts of the hotel.

I asked Miss Nancy what she remembered about hotels. Said I read about them in a book, and now I was having dreams. She told me all about her honeymoon in the Bahamas, back ~~before the Fall~~ before everything changed. Then she asked me about my hotel. It’s funny, I guess I have started to think of it as my hotel, my city. I told her it wasn’t anything like hers. There was no beach, no tiki bar by the swimming pool. After I told her about the black glass and the square look of everything, she said she thought it might be a _business_ hotel, and not one people went to for vacations. It’s in the middle of a city, so I guess that makes sense.

Miss Nancy also thought it was strange that I was dreaming of a city, but I told her it was just because I’ve been reading a lot of historical books, and they’ve gotten into my head. She said I should go back a little further, and maybe I’d get exotic desert palaces filled with wine, gold, and beautiful women. I laughed and told her Unmarked girls were funny looking, anyway, and I’d rather have kumis than wine, any day of the week. She blamed the New World, told me a handsome young man like me would have been all about wine and women, in the Old World. I like women just fine, as long as they’ve got wings! I said if we still had grapes, I might like wine, but candy plums didn’t make a good drink, and she had to give me that point. I promised her a bottle of apple brandy, next time, even if I do have to go see the Dryads for it.

But, the hotel. Little, flat rectangles of plastic, in all the drawers. I was sure they’d had a use, once, but I figured I could slip a few of the cheaper locks with them. Weird electronic components I’d never seen before, and none of them worked, so I really don’t know what they were for. And then, a key. It was too small for any of the doors I’d seen, but maybe it was for a desk drawer or a cabinet or a box? I took it.

There’s a swimming pool, or at least something that was one, in a cut-out in the middle of the building. When I first saw it, I thought it was outside, but as soon as I opened the door, I could tell I was wrong. There must have been glass somewhere higher up, because the air was heavy and wet, and it hurt to breathe, but the pool was empty. It looked like everything had rotted away, which was weird, because that was the first and only sign of life I’d seen in the whole city. No plants, no bugs, no running water… except this weird dank and mouldy pocket in the middle of this hotel. Was there something I could have used, in there? Maybe, but I didn’t stick around to find out. Something really bothered me about that room. It felt infectious, and I really didn’t want to know if it was catching.

I finally found an office that was open, after I spent some time rattling doors. No sign on the door or anything, but it looked like there had been one, once. It was past the bar in what looked like a restaurant, at the end of some side hallway. This building is almost like a town, in itself. Rooms for hundreds of people, a restaurant, a door marked like some sort of medical office (but I couldn’t get into that)… It’s almost like you could come here and not have to see the city at all, which seems strange.

In the office, I finally found keys. I also found what I think was food, but there were no words on the label. It was just a foil-wrapped block of something with a picture of nuts and a glass of milk. I almost tried to take it with me, but it wouldn’t have come out of the dream. I wonder if I’ll have to find the keys again, next time. It was strange… I didn’t have time to use them. The clock in the tower rang, and the bell shook everything… and then I was in bed. I didn’t see her at all, this time. Next time, I know where the keys are. I’ll get a ladder or a rope or… something.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fish gets the girl! No, really. Gets. Out of the door. Strange conversations ensue.

I went back for the keys, right away, this time. The first two rooms I opened were disappointing. Nothing but floor soap and rolls of bags. I took a bag, just to make it easier to carry things, if I found a bunch of stuff. But, it wasn’t until the third room that things started to look good. That’s where I found a really long hose. I want to think it was for filling that pool I will never again go near, but I also have a sense that doesn’t make sense. I’m not sure why. Still, took the hose. Also took a broom that looked like it might be wider than the door frame. I don’t know why I keep thinking of the door as pulling things in, when it seems more interested in pushing things out, to either side.

But, that’s not the important part. The important part is the girl.

No, Fish. Back up.

Ok, so, I tied the hose to the broom, and went to the corner. Sure enough, there she was, clutching at the doorframe, trying to pull herself through. Still singing that song. It felt like it echoed off the city, itself, without actually being loud enough to do that. I still couldn’t really see her, which I still don’t understand. But, I threw the broom to her. Well, no. It took a few tries, and it was more like I swung the hose at her with the broom for a weight. It took her a while to get a hand on it, but her hand was the first thing I could really see, like with no psychedelic effects. No blurring, no seeing through it. As soon as her hand grabbed the broom, it was like her hand was suddenly real. I tied the hose around a pole and started to pull, as soon as she had both hands on the broomstick.

And, then, there she was, just laying on the ground like she fell, coming out of the door. I ran over to her, which was weird, because it worked. I couldn’t get much closer to the door, but I could get to her. And then there was all that awkward staring and saying stupid things and ‘are you ok?’

I told her my name was Fish, and she blinked at me. Said she found a note written in chalk, on the street on the other side of the door (street? isn’t that door to a shop?) and it said ‘find the provident fish’. I told her I wasn’t sure I was ‘provident’, but my family name was ‘Providence’, which was probably close enough.

Through all this, she managed to sit up and started looking around. I offered her my hand, and she hesitated a long time, before she took it and stood up.

"You’re really real," she said to me. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that. It was such a weird sentence.

I asked her name, and she said I should call her Laia. Then I asked what she meant about ‘really real’. I guess she couldn’t see me either. Just heard the same song, but heard me singing it. I reassured her I hadn’t been singing, I’d been trying to talk to her; trying to tell her I’d find a way to bring her through. She said she hadn’t been singing, either, but asking me to help her. Something changed, then. Some realisation that the door was more than it appeared to be. It seemed to block parts of things, but not all of them. Blurry vision, the wrong sounds, folding space…

For a while, we just looked at each other, coming to terms with the fact that we looked related. Actually, from what she said, we look more related to each other than we do to our parents. She’s not The One, but we appear to be a sept no one noticed. The One Who Walks Before Us hasn’t spoken to her either, but the green eyes, the black hair, the ashy skin scrawled with blue and orange lines… There’s no one else in town with that mark. There’s no one in her town, either.

I’m inclined…no. I really believe she’s real. Hah. Now I’ve said it. She’s really real. I don’t think she’s a dream. I think this is what our sept does, and we never knew because there aren’t enough of us in one place. But, there’s two of us, now.

She thinks we should give the cities names. Cities, because she has one, too, and it doesn’t look anything like mine. I told her that next time we met, we should each have a name, because that would give us time to come up with good ones.

We joked around about this being the weirdest way to meet someone, and how we’ll never trust a door again. The kinds of stuff you’d expect, really. And then she really started to look around. "I wonder if there are other doors. I wonder if there are more places, more cities. I wonder if they’re even all cities."

I told her I was pretty sure there were places in the city that had gone wrong, even if I wasn’t sure what ‘wrong’ meant. I described the room with the swimming pool, and that oppressively creepy feeling. And, of course, the fact that nothing had any words on it.

I guess I’d noticed that first. She hadn’t, because of the note in the street, on her side. And the arrow pointed at the door, so she’d never really looked for other words, because who can read the words in dreams, anyway? Except the important ones, of course.

And then we ran out of time. The clock at the top of the tower tolled, and Laia got all swirly like she’d been in the door. And then she was gone, and I was awake, in bed.

I want to see her again, and now I know how. I wonder if there are more of us. I know there’s another town, somewhere out there. I just don’t know what to do about it.

We don’t know where we are. I don’t know if her town knows where they are, either. I just know we’re near Tower Mountain. Not close enough to get there, without being torn apart by razorhounds, but close enough that the old folks still talk about going to the mountain, before it was taken by Those Who Walk Before. The Dolls brought the message that those who want to speak to Them should face the mountain with their entreaties, and the Dolls always know which way is toward the mountain. We’re just more than a few days from it, and the razorhounds get thicker, toward the mountain.

But, there’s another town, out there, and Laia’s in it.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fish tries to tell Jimmy about the girl in his dreams, but Jimmy doesn’t agree with his conclusions.

I went to see Jimmy and Lola, a few days ago, because I wanted to tell Jimmy about the dream. Of course, I forgot I hadn’t told Jimmy about these dreams, since they started, so I ended up telling the whole thing ass-backward, after I burst in shouting about the girl of my dreams.

Jimmy stared. Lola laughed. Then Jimmy asked me if more or less kumis was the answer, and I figured out where I’d gone wrong. More kumis, obviously. So, we went to Slurry’s, and I told him about the city and Laia. Lola’s sure I’m just dreaming about girls with four-letter ‘l’ names because I secretly have a crush on her, so, you know, I told her that wasn’t much of a secret, and the girl didn’t look anything like her. Jimmy’s sure I’m having dreams about a lost family, because I’m the only one of my sept, so I don’t have the group, like other people do, and of course it’s coming out in my dreams.

Neither of them are willing to give any credence to the idea that I actually met someone from another town. People from other towns can’t get here, because of the razorhounds, and nobody travels in dreams, except Those Who Walk Before. Lola wondered if I’d met mine, and I told her I’d already thought of that. Those Who Walk Before are so far from what we are, so foreign, that I think one of them would have been a lot more obvious, and a lot more demanding. Laia just seemed like a nice girl who happened to be from another town.

They think I need to get out more. Meet some girls who aren’t all in my head, in mysterious cities. I’m… really pretty sure that’s not the problem, but I don’t think Jimmy’s going to stop giving me a hard time until I do. I’ll just ask Delilah to come out to the cheesehouse with me and tell Jimmy we’ve got some super-secret thing going on. She’ll do it for a laugh.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fish is trying to name the city, in the hopes it will take him back, if he does. Too many nights with no dreams of the black glass hotel and the road that only goes one place.

I’m not sure what’s wrong. And that’s a weird sentence. Suddenly, I don’t dream of the city for a few days, and something’s wrong, instead of the city being wrong. Maybe it’s because I don’t know what to call it. It needs a name.

I don’t know what to call it, though. It’s a city, so it’s not like you can just call it ‘Fred’ or ‘Ariadne’ or something. City with a–, city by the–, city in the–, they all just sound kind of dumb, even if they are descriptive. I mean, I’ve seen names of the old cities, but I don’t really want to take one, because I don’t think this _is_ one of the old cities, and that would cause all kinds of confusion. It’s not Chicago or Hiroshima or Manchester. I can’t even name it after my town, because then it would be New New Stanton, which is just ridiculous.

I’ve been looking through some books, trying to get an idea of how cities used to be named. Lots of ‘New Thingy’, ‘Thingy City’, ‘Thingyton’, ‘Thingypolis’, ‘Thingychester’, ‘Thingyburg’, ‘Thingyford’. Some ‘Los/Las Thingy’. A few ‘Santo Thingy’s, but I think those are people’s names. A couple ‘Thingy-on-Other Thingy’, but the Other Thingys look like river names. Our river is just The River, because that’s what it calls itself.

Laia said she came because the writing in the street said to seek the provident fish. I mean, I guess I could name it ‘Fishburg’, but that’d be like naming it after myself, and that’s kind of arrogant, I think. Or, I guess I could name it ‘Providencechester’, but that’s kind of a mouthful.

I wonder if I could find a book about old beliefs, in the library. I wonder if the Librarians know if there’s a name for a fish that’s a good luck charm, or something. Maybe I could call it after that? But, then it’s going to be like ‘Salmonton’ or something. Maybe if there’s a fish that’s good luck, it’ll have a cool name.

If it doesn’t, I think I’m going to have to go with ‘Nancyford’. I think she’d like having a city named after her.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fish goes out to the library to discuss aquatic creatures of good fortune. He meets a new librarian! He learns new words! He still hasn’t named the city.

I rode out to the library, a day there and a day back, but I had to ask about the fish. I met another Librarian, one I hadn’t met before, but they don’t have names. Or, I think they do have names, but they don’t _tell_ anyone their names. Librarian with the pointy beard let me know that if any of them knew the answer, it would be this woman, and then he went to make drinks.

She was short woman, with a round face and squinty black eyes. I mean, they _all_ have black eyes, but something about the way she held hers made them blacker. But, even when her mouth didn’t smile, her eyes looked like she was smiling. Something about the way she made ideas in my head, when we started to talk, made me think she hadn’t always spoken the same language I did. I know there used to be more languages. I’ve seen the books. I’ve just never heard anyone _speak_ one. I guess I still haven’t.

Round-faced Librarian wanted to know what I wanted with mythic fish. No one had ever asked about the old traditions, but a lot of people seemed to have gotten names from them, she explained. It was like what little they remembered came out with their changes. But, I was the first one, in twenty-five years, to ask a question like that. I was the first person she’d spoken to who wasn’t a Librarian, in fifteen years, since they stopped letting the Librarians come to town.

I was a little less surprised than a lot of people might have been. Really, only the Patternhanded had much use for the library, these days. History and scholarship had been abandoned in favour of finding ways to adapt and survive in the New World. But, there were a few like me, who would come and read books. The River sent a woman, once, but they made her sit outside and talked with her through the door.

But, I told her I was looking for a name from a dream. It was close to being true, and it made me sound less crazy. I said that I could remember someone telling me that it was the fish of good fortune, and I wanted to know what fish that was.

She started out talking about carp, a special kind of carp from Japan, called _koi_. They were supposed to bring good fortune. Pointy-beard Librarian brought a cup of chicory and spike for me and some yellowish-green … tea, I guess, for her. She asked him to get a book for her, and when he returned, she showed me some pictures, asking if I recognised anything. _Koi_ came in a lot of colours, lots of spots and patterns. None of them looked quite right, but while I was looking, she went to get another book, and said she would show me _arowana_ , the dragonfish. Now, I didn’t want to think too much about dragons, because I was sure I was looking for a fish, but I have no idea why this thing is called a dragonfish, because it doesn’t look a thing like a dragon. And then I turned the page. And there it was. I don’t really know why this fish stuck with me, but it reminded me of my skin and of a map and of rainbows in greasy soup. Blue and green and gold, bleeding out into red and yellow. Some violet smudges where the red meets the blue. That was the fish I wanted, and I traded her my last run on the town archives for it. She wants _who and how_ , not _what_. I’ll remember that. She wants family histories and the mythology of the New World.

Arowanaburg? Arowanachester? I clearly need to spend more time thinking about this.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fish gets it into his head to visit The River, for some answers. And then things just take a turn for the extra-weird.

Arowana. I know the name of the fish, and I know the name of the city, but it took The River to make me see it.

No, Fish. Back up.

Ok, so, I came back from the library, and I couldn’t think of a name for the city that I liked. Arowanabury, Arowanachester, Arowanaford… None of them were right, but I knew that fish. I knew I liked it. It sounds kind of stupid, but I knew it liked me.

So,  I did what any desperate man with a mission does. I went to The River. Not just to talk to them, in town, but _to_ The River. And now I understand why the only people who go anywhere near it are the traders. I don’t think I’ll ever forget.

The parts of The River that don’t leave the water are like fish. I mean, yes, all of The River has gills, but in the water, they have tails and scales and fins. I saw a picture in an old book, once, of a mermaid. They’re like that, but a little more fish-like, hairless and the colour of the water, strangely beautiful and completely androgynous.

I came down the path to the river, past the end of the clay houses, through where the Dryads grew their houses from the trees, to the traders huts, made of clay and river-reeds. Everyone stared. No one comes down this road who doesn’t live here, not in the middle of the day. Some people give up hope, and they give themselves to The River, so the pain will stop. Others think they can trick The River or steal from it, but they’re wrong. I didn’t come to do any of that. I came to ask about fish and names. And cities.

Sixteen or twenty of them turned around, as I got near the shore. "Come to me," they commanded, in one voice.

I declined.

"I’ve missed you, Richard. Have you come back to me?" they burbled, the words arising a few milliseconds out of time, from each of them. It’s a strange sound, and I think The River does it, just to be unnerving.

I was confused. Why did it remember me? I was only in the water for a minute, twenty something years ago. But, it explained that it remembers everyone it touches, especially the ones that get away. I just sort of blinked awkwardly into the distance for a bit, and then explained I’d come to talk about fish. Fish and cities.

The River told me it knew all the fish. It wasn’t just a river, it was a lake, it was a sea. It was everywhere in the world, it said, but I wasn’t sure if I believed it. I asked it about the arowana, and it told me that for each answer, I would have to take a drink from the water.

That was when I almost walked away. But, I’d been in the water. It didn’t take me, last time. The River reassured me if it didn’t like me, it would throw me back. On the other hand, I didn’t know anyone else who had come back from The River, except the traders, and they didn’t drink it.

It was stupid. I was clearly insane. But, I did it. I took a handful of The River and I drank it. It was heavy, somehow, and it tasted like silver. Not the metal, the colour. It tasted like drinking the colour silver.

"Ask me your question," The River burbled, and I did. I asked if the arowana still lived. If they were still anywhere in the world. The river began to burble incomprehensibly, as if it spoke to itself in a hundred languages, and more of them gathered, all speaking in tongues. The water bubbled and rippled from those who didn’t bother to surface, and I swear the water itself began to hum.

Finally, one of them spoke to me. "In the water beside the place that calls itself Tally Sop." I have no idea how to spell that, but it’s what it sounded like.

"There are other towns?" I asked, already knowing the answer. "Where?"

"Drink!" The River commanded, not burbling for a change.

"No, no. That wasn’t a question. I knew that." I took a handful of water, but didn’t drink it. "Did any cities survive? That’s the question." I drank another handful of the water, and I could feel it starting to … something, inside me. It was like going underwater, again and again. Everything became blurry and then clear, over and over. My stomach burned and bubbled, and parts of The River looked uncomfortable. They began to duck back under the water, a few at a time.

"No cities. I know no cities." Only one of them responded, then another. "No more questions, Richard. Go home."

And then, they were gone. All down beneath the water, again.

I tried to walk back to town, but somewhere near where the traders’ huts started to give way to Dryad trees, I leaned against a tree, thinking I might throw up, but I passed out.

And then the city came to me. Except that’s not right. I became the city, is more like it. It touched me, and I knew it, even some parts from beyond the fog, this time. The fog moved back, and the streets opened up. Shops and offices in every direction. I think I saw some houses. And I saw parts of it, like they were before the fall. The change. Before the change. I saw the people in the streets, so different in some ways and so much the same in others. And then I saw the streets start to move, and the people started to fade. They didn’t seem to notice, they just kept going and little by little, they weren’t there, any more, and the city had come apart. I could feel all the parts of it, and then some of them went away, and then some other parts were added, and then… It was the city I knew, and I was it, and there was more of it, somehow, but I still couldn’t push past the fog, even being the city, it seemed impenetrable, which probably meant the streets stopped at the fog.

Arowana, I named it/myself. It would be the city of the provident fish.

And then I woke up, lying in wet dirt, beside the road. Jimmy’s going to stare at me until I tell him. I know it. And then he’s going to hit me for being dumb enough to go to the river.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fish goes to get his hair cut and gets yelled at by his stylist. As usual. Also, some fun facts about The River and the Serpentine.

We had a River/River/River shoot, today, which is always interesting. It’s a lot less messy and freaky than filming scenes with The River and anyone else, though. I don’t think I’ll ever get bored of watching The River change its parts.

Parts? Segments? Individuals? I’m never sure.

This one starred a girl who had been half transformed into an octopus. She told me The River had chosen to participate in our films, because they provide new insight into the workings of the mind. The River intends to explore things that people don’t talk about, but that it has found in the dreams and desires of its host. I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard The River speak of itself as separate from its sept. The River frequently claims to be fascinated by mankind, though, so that’s not a weird reason for it to be working with us.

Its host, apparently, is the word I’m looking for. The River and its host.

But, today was light work, for me. Almost all just filming, which I’ve got nothing to do with. The bulk of it will be tomorrow. Means I got out early enough to go down to Rainbow and listen to Ana hiss and click about my hair. Well, no, I mean, obviously she cut it for me, but you know how Serpentine stylists get, when you’re not doing what they _told_ you to do. So, you know, I bought an apple tart and a cup of chicory, and I told her my hair looked so bad, because I’d been to visit The River. And, of course, I came to see her as quick as I could, after.

She backed up, pretty quick, and checked me for gills. Then I got to hear about how stupid it is to go anywhere near The River, especially down by the water. I reminded her I was the Fish Out of Water, and she smacked me with a brush and told me my luck would run out, eventually.

"No one is immortal, Fish. No one is perfect. Especially not you. What on Her fangs did you do to this…?" _Snip snip_. "You still bite your nails, don’t you. Quit that. You’d be so much more handsome if you didn’t bite your nails." _Snip_. "And The River? Really? Are you suicidal or you just get dumber as you get older? Just because you been to the river twice now, don’t get it into your head a third time’s a good idea. No, sir. Once is lucky. Twice is a miracle. Third time, ain’t nobody going to come save your ass."

I would have pointed out that nobody saved my ass the other two times, but after that dream, I’m not so sure. After the way The River reacted to me drinking the water, I’m _really_ not sure.

Instead, I asked what she’d done with her scales, and she told me all about how she talked Nebo into painting a golden flower on each one. I blinked at her, in the mirror, and she just smiled and reassured me that yes, _all_ of her scales were painted.

I told her, again, like I do, every few months, that my dad is always surprised that a salon sells pastry and drinks. He says that in the Old World, no one would do that, because they were all afraid of getting the hair clippings in the food.

Ana laughed, like she always does. The Old World didn’t have the Serpentine, she said again. I have seen the talents of the old world, in pictures, and I promised I’d bring her more. She wants to study the enormous wigs that were really popular in some place called France. I guess France was pretty important, in the Old World, because ‘French’ seems to either be shorthand for ‘really nice’ or ‘really sexual’, depending on who’s writing it. I told Ana that, and she thought it was perfect that she should like French things, because she likes both of those. I think I inhaled part of my tart, laughing.

As I was leaving, Ana asked me if I’d let Nebo paint a picture of me, yet. Nude, of course, which is why I keep saying no. It’s not that I’m ashamed to be naked; I mean, consider where I work. It’s just that my skin is… I’m the only one here with my skin. There’s no skin like mine, except Laia’s. But, maybe that’s a reason to let him paint me. Maybe, on canvas, it’ll make a different kind of sense.

I told Ana I’d probably do it. Soon, even. She was pretty surprised, but she said she’d tell Nebo to get his colours in order.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fish finally returns to the city, and Laia’s there waiting for him. They try to draw conclusions, before the bell rings.

I finally dreamed again. And there was the city. There was Arowana, the provident fish, the city of dreams. And the black glass of the hotel licked up in rainbows in the corner of my vision, as I walked past. It felt like coming home, if ‘home’ was the remains of a quarter-century decimated civilisation that had vanished in their tracks.

I remembered the dream I had, coming back from The River, where the city came apart, and all the people disappeared from the streets. There was a story in there, somewhere, but I couldn’t even begin to figure out how to tell it, or what it even was. But, I knew it. I knew I knew it, which is kind of weird, under the circumstances. But, it’s like that thing where you dream something that’s super important, in the dream, and then you wake up with that sense of importance, but the dream itself is gone.

And, then I looked up, and I was already standing on the corner. The broom and the hose were where I’d left them, which I wasn’t expecting, and the door was already open. Laia was waiting for me.

I helped her through the door, and we spent a little time just talking about nothing. Just like talking to Jimmy, really, but if Jimmy was my sister. That doesn’t make any sense, does it? I told her how I named the city, and she shouted when I got to the part about The River.

"Did you leave your brain in your other pants? _Fish_!"

So, then I had to explain about The River and my relationship to it, how I got my name and all that. She got still, just watched me for a bit.

"I wonder…" Her head tilted and she squinted like she was looking right through me. "But, I’m not stupid enough to try!"

"What about you? Your name mean anything weird?" I figured it was a safe question. Anything to get the subject off The River.

"I spent a lot of time in doorways," she said, sort of answering the question. "It’s short for ‘Propylaia’. Father says it means ‘before the door’."

There was something about the way she said ‘father’ that reminded me of the round-faced Librarian. Like maybe outside the dream, we didn’t speak the same language all the time. Or maybe she just has a weird accent. I don’t know. Even in a little town like ours, people’s accents from before survived. Older people could tell where people had been from, before, by how they sounded, sometimes.

"You got a nifty name. I got… Fish." I laughed.

"Look at this city! You can’t tell me fish aren’t cool! We’re standing in the city of the One True Fish!"

"What about your city?" I asked her. "We know the door works for you, but I still can’t get to it. What does it look like? Did you name it?"

She stared into the emptiness in the door, for a while, before she answered. "It doesn’t have a name, yet. Did you see any signs? Anything written in the street, like ‘seek out the armoured fig’?"

I told her I hadn’t. And then it occurred to me that maybe I wasn’t looking in the right place. If I couldn’t go through that door, but she could, maybe I was supposed to use a different door. But… there were so many doors. But, if Laia was right, the door would be labelled. There would be some sign that it was the door I was looking for.

"Should have named it the City of Doors," I muttered under my breath, looking down the street.

We took a walk through the streets, and I found they had changed. The fog had moved back, and there were more buildings, more roads. Some of them looked like they didn’t quite match up. Almost like bad scars,if a city block could have scars.  I took that as my cue to tell Laia about the dream.

"They just… disappeared?" She squinted up at me.

"They faded away." I couldn’t say why it was important, but there was some vital difference between disappearing all at once and fading out of existence over half a minute or more. "It’s like the world changed and they weren’t part of it, any more, because right after that, the city came apart, too."

That still bothered me in whole other ways. Every time I thought about it, I could feel my stomach roll, as if I were riding on every part of the city at the same time. I guessed it explained the scars, though, and I pointed that out to Laia.

"Is someone moving the parts? Are _you_ moving the parts?" She looked around us, eyes lighting on one scar and then another.

I shrugged and shook my head. I didn’t know the answer. But, if it wasn’t me, then who?

"What if it’s The One? Our One?" I asked her.

"Someone must Walk Before Us. But, don’t people usually get clearer messages?" She paused by a scar that ran through the sidewalk and up the side of a building, and her hand twitched, but she didn’t touch it. "What if they are scars? Literal scars. What if this isn’t a real city at all? What if it’s… I don’t know, organic?"

"Then I think we’re in for a mangler of a ride." I whistled and looked down the street, toward the fog. "Hey, what if that’s why I can’t find the door to your city? What if your city is my city, and the parts haven’t met, yet?"

"Met? That’s… I guess if it’s organic." Laia stared into space, her eyes occasionally twitching with the movement of some thought she wasn’t sharing with the rest of the class. "What if we can’t find the door, because we’re walking in the wrong direction?"

She grinned wryly and I laughed. It was a good point. We really didn’t have any proof, just a walk through a corner of what was suddenly a larger space than I remembered it being. I was about to suggest we pick a direction and walk until we got to the intersection before the fog, and then move over to the next street and go the other way, but the bell tolled.

Her eyes got huge.

"Laia?"

She lifted off the ground, stretching strangely sideways, like those sap candies the Dryads liked. "Later!" she yelled as she was pulled back toward the door. "We’ll make a map!"

I swear she passed straight through the corner of a building. And then I was alone, in bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea if I'm ever going to finish this. Probably not, though. I can't remember enough of the parts any more.


End file.
